An Act of Mercy
by ArtemisMS
Summary: Hawke dreads telling Fenris about his recent dealings with the templar Thrask. M!Hawke x Fenris


"A man of 'good character and unusual ability.' That's how he put it." I downed the rest of my ale, bringing a hand up to wipe my mouth afterward. "Have you ever heard anything so preposterous? It's so bloody obvious I'm beginning to doubt my own suspicions."

Isabela rolled her eyes.

"Why? Because he flattered you?" She reached for the bottle, refilling both our glasses—her fourth, my second. "Have a look in the mirror, you tow-headed imbecile. He's probably just scrambling for an excuse to get closer to you."

"Isa_bel_a_._" I gave her a steady look. "If you're suggesting that a _templar_ has a crush on me…"

She shrugged. "And why not? Why do we all keep running back into your arms?"

"Back into my arms?"

"I meant that figuratively, of course. Although it's only figurative because you're a colossal prude and keep turning us all down."

"I turned _you_ down," I corrected. "That doesn't make me a prude."

"Don't make this all about me, Hawke. I've seen the way poor Merrill looks at you. And I _was_ there when Anders tried to smooth talk you right out of your armor."

I winced and reached for my glass. Anders _had_ taken my refusal a bit harshly. His sudden admission had startled me; after all, we'd still barely even known one another at the time. He _had_ to be lonely to hit on the likes of me—and small wonder, too, living as he's had to live—not to mention everything that had happened with Karl.

I've never lost anyone like that—a lover, I mean. It was absurd, but I felt guilty for days afterward, as if I could have forced myself to return his feelings.

"You're brooding again," Isabela said. She poked me gently under the table with her boot.

"If I am, it's because you're getting me drunk," I complained. I reached for my glass again. The ale at the Hanged Man tasted like pure, unadulterated horse piss, but it sure as hell got you drunk faster than you could blink and say "More, please."

"So tell me about this templar again. What did he look like?"

"I can't say for sure. I wasn't home at the time. Mother was the one who answered the door."

"Did she say anything? He must not have been much to look at if she didn't."

I sighed and gave her a look. "She said he had red hair. He wasn't dressed as a templar, but she said she just _knew_ what he was the second she laid eyes on him." I frowned. "I suppose years of running from the Chantry has given us all a sixth sense when it comes to templars."

"Don't get maudlin on me, Hawke. Red hair … I slept with a man with red hair once…"

"Only once?"

"Shush. This one stood out; I mean, it was _really_ red. He was from Antiva. At least I think he was. I can't remember his voice for some reason. But that _hair_…"

"And you wonder why I won't sleep with you," I said dryly.

"Why? Because you'd be just another notch on my bedpost?" She gave me a sly look. "I didn't realize you were such a romantic."

"I'm not a romantic," I complained.

Well, I probably am, but she made it sound as if it were something to be ashamed of—which, for her, I suppose, it probably was.

"You know who else keeps staring at you when your back is turned," she continued. She leaned forward, her breasts lifting up over her folded arms. "I'll give you three guesses. Oh, and it rhymes with 'Fenris'."

I choked on my ale. "What?"

"Hawke!"

Varric grinned as he approached our table. I was still trying to get over my coughing fit, so there was no time to test whether Isabela had been only joking or not. She looked up at Varric, her chair tipping back slightly, a false pout on her face.

"You've terrible timing," she accused. "I was just about to make Hawke blush."

Varric looked intrigued. "Even _I_ haven't been able to do _that_ yet."

I gave them both a look. "Oh, come off it, you two. Look, could we just get back to the topic at hand? What on earth am I supposed to do about that bloody letter?"

Varric, if possible, looked doubly intrigued.

"What letter?" he asked. He pulled up a chair and quickly sat down between us.

"Hawke has an admirer," said Isabela. "He has red hair. Oh, and he's a templar."

"Isabela!" I cried.

Varric gave me an amazed look. "A templar! Really, Hawke. That's pushing it a little, don't you think? Flirting with danger?"

"I always knew he had a kinky side to him," said Isabela.

"Would you both cut it out?" I glared at Isabela, who grinned then stuck her tongue out at me.

"You're no fun," she said.

"The letter was from a templar," I said, turning to Varric. "He delivered it to my uncle's house earlier this afternoon. He claims to have had some dealings with me in the past."

"Hmm." Varric sat back and stroked his nonexistent beard. "That would be that what's his name, Thrask, was it? That recruit was a blond. So's the Knight-Captain."

"Mmm, Knight-Captain Cullen," mused Isabela.

I looked at her. "Is _any_one safe from your advances?"

"Is it my fault Kirkwall is chalk full of gorgeous people? A girl has needs, you know." She glanced at me. "So do some men, or so I hear."

"I've been wondering about that," Varric said. "You've been alone since we first met, Hawke. How is it no one's turned those pretty eyes of yours yet?"

I groaned. "Now my _eyes_ are pretty?"

"Very pretty."

I looked up at Anders, who was smirking a little as he approached our table. I hate to admit it, but my face did warm a little. Luckily, no one seemed to notice.

"So." He pulled up a chair, sitting opposite Varric and between Isabela and me. "We're talking about his eyes, are we? What's next? His lips?"

Isabela's eyes widened. "Oh, he _does_ have lovely lips, doesn't he?"

"I'm still sitting right here," I said dryly.

"Oh, we know," said Anders.

"Hawke," said Varric, "Let's get back to that letter."

Bless him.

"You're sure it was a templar?"

I nodded. "My mother was sure, at least."

"Leandra would know," Anders said gravely. "What a task she's had, shepherding you all about for so long."

"It's taken it's toll on her," I agreed. _And on Carver_, I thought, but I kept the thought to myself. My surly little brother was hardly a popular subject amongst my friends.

"It has to be Thrask then," Varric said. "Maybe it's about Feynriel again. Did the letter mention anything about mages?"

"No. But he did say that the 'lives of many innocents' were at stake."

Anders sat up a bit. "The lives of many _mages_! That must be what he means. Hawke, we have to help him. We can't let any more mages die at the hands of the templars!"

I frowned. "What makes you think Thrask wants to save mages from other templars?"

Varric shook his head. "I think Blondie might be onto something, Hawke. It's all starting to make sense. Why did Thrask ever agree in the first place to let us help find Feynriel? Why didn't he enlist other templars?"

"I suppose he thought it best for Feynriel if none of the other templars knew of his … unique abilities," I said. "If he's already dreaming of demons…" I trailed off, a part of me hoping I'd done the right thing by sending him to the Dalish.

"I agree with Varric," said Anders. "That templar—for whatever reason—he's not a mage-hater like the rest of them. And he needs us again to help him with something. To help more mages get free of the templars!"

"I wouldn't go that far," warned Varric. "But I agree it's worth looking into."

I sighed and sat back. "So I take it I'm going to meet him," I said. I met all their eyes. "And that you're all coming with me."

"Of course I'm coming with you!" said Anders.

Varric smiled. "My curiosity's been piqued. You know what that means."

I looked at Isabela.

"Is there coin involved?" she asked, reaching for the bottle of ale.

Anders looked disgusted.

"You're bloody heartless is what you are," he accused. "Didn't you rescue all those slaves from Castillon? How are mages any different?"

I finished my glass and stood up.

"There's coin involved," I assured her. "I'll meet you all here tomorrow morning. We'll head out together."

"You can spend the night in my room, if you like, Blondie," said Varric.

Isabela gave me a sly look. I knew what she was thinking. I coughed to hide my smile, but my mind was already on weightier matters.

If tomorrow would see me inserting myself into the affairs of others, and inevitably freeing more of my fellow mages—well, there was one person I dreaded telling more than anyone.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

I hadn't visited him in nearly a week. For some reason, I had a strange feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach. I blamed Isabela's teasing from the previous night.

"You should have told me!" Fenris accused.

We were sitting in his room—the only room in Danarius's supposed mansion that wasn't covered in blood stains and broken furniture. At least the fire still worked, and I'd helped him stuff the corners so it wasn't too drafty. Varric had given him a thick blanket for his bed and a few books to pass the time. He'd had an awkward look on his face at the time, which led me to suspect he couldn't read. My heart had quaked a little at that—damn Isabela and her bloody spot-on accusations.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. He placed his hands on my arms, feeling them lightly, his eyes gazing roughly over my body. "I can't believe you went off on some dangerous mission without me!"

"I'm fine, Fenris," I assured him.

His eyes met mine just for a moment—then he dropped his hands, a scowl coming to his face.

"You didn't tell me for a reason," he accused. "You knew I'd be angry."

"There wasn't time to tell you," I said. This was, at least, somewhat true. But you also don't bring a former Tevinter slave on a mission to free a group of apostates. At least not one whose favor you're hoping to court.

God, I'm such a hopeless romantic.

"Anyway, I had Varric and Isabela with me," I said. "I was perfectly safe." I didn't like mentioning that my abilities with magic kept me safe enough on my own, too. I knew he wasn't comfortable yet with what I was—I wondered if he ever would be.

"Varric and Isabela," he repeated. His eyes narrowed. "And _Anders_."

Wait a second—was he _jealous_?

"Yes, and Anders," I agreed, before I could blurt out my suspicions.

He glared at me again. "Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, no reason."

He frowned, but I could tell that there was no real malice in the expression. I was just beginning to grasp the little nuances of his features, how his eyes widened when he was surprised or upset, or how his mouth twitched at the corners when he was amused. Years of hardship had taught him to keep his expression guarded, I suppose.

It was like picking apart the lock on a treasure chest. Some day, somehow, I'd manage to get inside, to the heart of whatever lay within. Until then, though, I'd probably keep scratching my fingers trying.

"Come and stay with me at my uncle's," I said suddenly.

He gave me a surprised look. "What?"

"Come and stay at my uncle's," I repeated. "It's not safe here, Fenris. You know it isn't. Aveline is doing everything she can to keep the guard off your back, but she's only just been made captain, and—"

"It isn't safe for ME?" he asked. "Don't be ridiculous! I'm more than capable of looking after myself." He glared at me. "It's _you_ who needs looking after. You're the one who keeps traipsing off on this or that mission, waving your damned magic around like you're in the middle of Minrathous itself."

"You don't have to keep worrying about me," I assured him. "Fenris, look. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you behind." I gave him a steady look. "Shall we make a deal, you and I? No one goes off without the other, from now on."

He lifted his head slightly—he was so much shorter than me; I always got the impression that he was trying to appear taller when he did that.

"It's a deal," he agreed. "And," he added quickly, "I'm coming with you to the Deep Roads. I've never fought darkspawn before, but I've fought just about anything else. You'll need me there with you."

The look on his face said that this was not an argument I was going to win.

I sighed.

"All right," I said. "You're coming with me into the Deep Roads." I looked sideways, briefly dismayed. "Perhaps you can help me convince Carver to stay."

"If it will prevent him from asking me about my 'tattoos' for the one millionth time, then, gladly."

I met his eyes and chuckled. "He's rather enamored of you, isn't he? He does have a thing for elves, you know," I teased.

Fenris scoffed. "Don't be foolish. I'm nearly twice his age."

"No, you're not!" I said, laughing. "I know elves hide their age well, but even _I _don't believe _that_."

I knew he was at least a little older than myself, but by how much, I couldn't say. It was the bitterness in his eyes that betrayed him, though—not his face.

No, never his face.

"Do you have anymore of that Tevinter wine left?" I asked, turning to glance around the room. "Other than the stuff still dripping from your wall," I added under my breath.

"I heard that," he said.

I watched him cross the room before crouching down beside his bed, reaching for the crate that held the leftover bottles of wine. I thought of Isabela teasing me, and wondered if it were true—did he really look at me the way I sometimes caught myself looking at him?

I wasn't happy about him insisting on entering the Deep Roads with me. But on some level, I have to admit, I was happy. I could keep him close that way. The day Danarius did finally show up to reclaim his _property_, it was going to be to find ME at his side.

That was a promise I'd made with myself, and one I intended to keep, for as long as necessary.

For as long I lived, really.

God, how Isabela would gloat if she only knew.


End file.
